


This Thawing Heart and Winding Love

by npc



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Original Character(s), Work In Progress, idk man ill add more eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/npc/pseuds/npc
Summary: Heir to the throne at an age too young, Prince Viktor Nikiforov is as well known for his frozen, impenetrable demeanor as he is for being the only ice type user alive.But Yuuri who loves harder than anyone Viktor has ever met. Yuuri who protects fiercer than anyone Viktor has ever known.Yuuri teaches him of a love as delicate and trembling as it is bright and encompassing. Yuuri teaches Viktor of things he has long forgotten, has long abandoned, as the heir to a throne at an age too young.





	1. Chapter 1

Katsuki Yuuri is six years old when he sees Viktor Nikiforov on screen for the first time. The older boys long silver hair is pulled into a neat braid that glints in the sunlight as he waves energetically down at the large crowd below. It’s Viktor’s tenth birthday, and hundreds upon thousands of Water country citizens had flocked to the palace square to catch a glimpse of their prince, to wish him a happy birthday.

Yuuri watches raptly as the prince lowers his hand and gestures something in the air. Almost immediately, tendrils of ice begin to form on the palace walls, dancing upward in patterns of roses and peonies while Queen Nikiforov smiles indulgently by his side. A delighted gasp is heard throughout the crowd and the cheers return, even louder than before, at the young prince’s display. Currently the only known ice type user in the world, stories of Prince Viktors ice is famous even to those outside the country.

Thousands of miles away, back in the small town of Hasetsu, Yuuri bursts into clapping alongside them, smiling for a boy with silver hair and sky blue eyes.

He is six years old when he decides Viktor Nikiforov is the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

\----

Yuuri is a few minutes away from turning eleven and he still hasn’t manifested. While it wasn’t unheard of for children to manifest after the age of ten, it was far and in between, with the manifesters power staying relatively weak—an unsurprising fact considering that the younger the child manifests, the stronger they tend to be. His older sister, Mari, had manifested her wind type at just four years old and now, at eighteen, is considered one of the strongest wind type users in the town.

Swathed in both his blanket and the suffocating silence in his room, Yuuri watches as the clock shifts away from the final minute of the night and into the new day. A soft sob escapes him and he reaches over, gently placing his clock face down onto his night stand before the tears that had been threatening to overflow all day, finally, finally, spill over.

Yuuri is eleven years old and he doesn’t manifest.

\---

 Yuuri is fifteen years old and still unmanifested when Queen Nikiforov passes away in her sleep. The morning of her death is eerily quiet as the Water country mourned for their queen. Yuuri, who happened to be visiting at the time with Minako for an upcoming ballet competition, watched with an aching heart as a red-eyed Vikgtor Nikiforov came on screen to announce his uncle, Yakov Feltsman, as regent till Viktor’s twenty first birthday.

Later that day, as he and Minako were leaving the ballet studio that had been reserved for those in the upcoming competition, he overhears the hushed whispers of two of the older dancers exchanging bets as to the cause of the queen's death, laughing amongst themselves as their theories grew more and more outlandish.

For a full minute,Yuuri stares in their direction, stunned. Vaguely, he recalls one of them to also be a fellow visitor from Wind country, living just a few towns away from Hasetsu. Yuuri continues staring as they laugh, voices echoing louder than either of them probably realize in the almost empty studio.

And despite the anxiety that has faithfully shadowed Yuuri’s life since he was ten, despite his fear, his aversion for confrontation, Yuuri wants to say something, anything, to these two men taking laughing bets on the day of the queen’s death, as the face of Viktor Nikiforov flashes over and over on the television behind them.

But before he can, a sharp whip like crack resounds against the wooden floors and Yuuri feels a strong gust of wind escape around them, leaving haphazard gashes in the wall with the ease of knife through butter.

Blinking his surprise, Yuuri jerks his eyes towards Minako, expecting her hand to be raised in the typical fashion of a manifested user. And while her right hand is indeed raised, it was more reaching out towards Yuuri rather than anything else. Confused, he blinks at his teacher. They were the only four left in the studio and surely, she was the only one here strong enough to create such a powerful gust of wind.

However, Minako merely stared at Yuuri, eyes wide as she opens her mouth, once, twice before saying in a rather shaky voice,

“Yuuri”

And then it hits him.

He is fifteen years old when he manifests in an attempt to defend Viktor Nikiforov.

 

——

“—unheard of, Yuuri are you listening? Yuuri? YUURI!”

Flinching at Minako’s voice so near his ear, Yuuri jolted out of the daze he had been in, blinking rapidly at his teacher who was waving her hand worriedly in front of Yuuri’s face. The last rays of sun peeked through the soft white curtains of the hotel that Minako had hurriedly ushered them back to.

“Sorry,” he apologizes and guilt bubbled up in his throat as he took in the bags under Minako’s eyes. This couldn’t have been any easier on her. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed right now.”

His teacher's eyes softened as she took in the boy who may as well be her son. Despite Yuuri’s avoidance on the topic, Minako remembered how excited Yuuri had been to follow the footsteps of Mari in becoming a powerful Wind type user, knew how hard the lack of manifestation had hit Yuuri. The young boys stories of becoming a famous wind type user had abruptly stopped at the age of eleven, and along with it, the bright smiles and laughs Yuuri used to hand out so freely before.

Minako had only managed to watch for a few months before she offered Yuuri the same outlet ballet had provided her so many years ago.

Now, almost four years later, Yuuri had transformed into a phenomenal dancer, travelling the world with Minako to participate in internationally renowned competitions and holding his own against those older, more experienced than him. After hours and years of channeling his disappointment, his grief of being the small handful of people to never manifest, Yuuri had blossomed as a dancer in front of her eyes and Minako was sorry to see him go.

Because he must go.

Minako will make sure of it. Never in fourty two years of her life had she heard even a whisper of anyone manifesting after the age of thirteen. And certainly never in fourty two years has there been a user, regardless of type, who could control their manifestations without their hands.

And because of this, despite how gifted Yuuri was in dance, despite what a name Yuuri has already made for himself as Minako Okukawa’s only student, she was not selfish enough to keep him to herself. Not when Yuuri displayed such rare immense talent from the get go as a wind type user.

“I’ve already cleared things up about the studio,” Minako says reassuringly, reaching out and giving the fifteen year old a quick pat on the back. “Don’t feel too bad about it, the first time a person manifests is normally little violent.”

(A little violent may be a bit of a reach for the small cracks on a window or slightly singed hair typical of first time manifesters—a far cry from the six inch gashes gouged into the walls of the studio but neither of them acknowledge this for now)

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” Yuuri blurts out for what felt like the hundredth time “I don’t know what happened, I didn’t mean to do that.”

He was still horrified at the fact that he had not only caused so much damage to the property but also potentially put three people in harm's way. Yuuri didn’t know if he would have been able to live with himself had his wind sliced Minako or the two competitors. True, he had been (and still is) angry at the insensitivity displayed by the two men, but he never wanted to hurt them with his wind.

If the situation been less serious, Yuuri would have been over the moon about somehow manifesting, but all Yuuri could think about was what would have happened if the gashes surrounding them had befallen on any one of the three people instead.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, it’s ok, it happens. Yuuri, you’re starting hyperventilate, c’mon breathe with me, match my breathing, you’re doing great.”

From a great distance away, Yuuri felt Minako rub slow circles on his back as he forced himself to breathe with her, fighting against the familiar choking feeling that clawed at his throat, closing his airways while his heart kicked into overtime.

“You’re ok. You’re doing great. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.”

Grabbing his teacher's hand, Yuuri choked out a wheezing breath, squeezing her hand between his as he babbled his apologies to nobody, to everybody.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You could have been hurt. I’m so sorry”

Tears are streaming steadily down his face now and he knows he’s shaking but he can’t breath, can’t move, can’t stop.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone I’m so sorry”

“You didn’t Yuuri, you did great. You didn’t hurt a single one of us”

He hears Minako. But he knows, he  _knows_  that she’s lying. Knows that it’s his fault. Knows that he could have permanently injured any of them, all of them and he sobs even harder.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry.”

He’s starting to babble incoherently at this point, barely having time to push out the words as his lungs fight for the next short gulp of breath. He’s starting to feel lightheaded, the cold seeping in from the tiled floors that he’s crumbled on and he can’t remember how he got there in the first place. Next to him Minako is gently gripping his hand still.

“Yuuri. Yuuri I need you to really concentrate on me ok?” His teacher's voice was still gentle but now took on an urgent note as she gave his hand a squeeze, grounding him slightly with her touch, with her voice.

It’s with herculean effort that Yuuri brings himself to look at her, blurred and unfocused through the tears.

“That’s great” Minako says, giving his hand another squeeze. “I need you to hold your breath ok? Hold it for two seconds and then breathe out. Yes, good just like that. Let's do it again. One, Two. And out. One, Two. Out. You’re doing great.”

He doesn’t remember how long they sit there in the corner of the hotel bathroom, breathing slowly and deeply before feeling started to return to Yuuri’s hands and legs again, doesn’t know when Minako starts humming softly while she held Yuuri’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, wiping the snot and tears on his shirt, ashamed of having a breakdown right after Minako had dealt with the mess he had made of the studio. “I’ve calmed down now. Thank you.”

He looks up just in time to catch Minako’s soft smile.

“It’s ok Yuuri. It happens to the best of us.” she says to him, grabbing his hand to pull him up gently off the bathroom floor.

It’s times like this when Yuuri truly remembers just how lucky he is to have Minako. Because as much as he loves his family, Yuuri has never quite mustered the courage to discuss his anxiety with his parents who are already so wonderfully supportive of a son who never manifested. He could never confide to Mari about the crippling sense of disappointment and shame he has to be the useless little brother of someone so strong, so incredible. Because while he can never resent Mari for something outside her control, while he loves her dearly and would do anything for her, to grow up as the unmanifested brother of the pride and joy of Hasetsu took a heavy toll on his confidence.

But Minako had seen his anxiety, had empathizes, had understand. Minako had offered him an outlet through ballet. An outlet for all the anger, disappointment and shame he has harboured since he was eleven.

Yuuri sways slightly, stumbling into where his bed was and flopping non too gently on the clean blankets. The panic attack drained what little physical strength he had left after a full day of intense rehearsal. The bed dips slightly next to him as Minako sits down, staring at him thoughtfully.

“You know Yuuri,” she says, seeming to choose her words with great care. “Your family and I are so proud of how you’d done in ballet, who would have thought adorably chubby little Yuuri going international to win prize after prize at his ballet competitions?”

Yuuri blinks up at her, unsure of where this was going. “Thanks?” he ventures hesitatingly. This was nothing he hadn’t heard from his family or his ballet teacher already and he couldn’t fathom why Minako was bringing this up now.

Minako smiles as if she could read his mind and continues, “I just want you to know that if you change your mind about continuing your ballet career, I will fully support you. I will support you no matter what. I hope you know that.”

Yuuri stares, mind racing as he starts to piece together what Minako is saying.

“I’m sorry” he says, realizing with growing horror that this must be the final straw for his teacher. His ballet teacher that has been so patient with him after years of enduring his panic attacks, his anxiety. And Yuuri can’t blame her. He’d probably want to quit as the students teacher too if said student started uncontrollably manifesting his wind type. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry I caused so much trouble for you. I’ll pay for the damages done to the studio, of course, thank you so much for everything.”

He has every intention of getting up and bowing properly at his teacher when she yanks at his ear. Hard.

“OW! What the—”

“You’re not listening to me Yuuri,” Minako snaps, eyes flashing dangerously, as if daring him to apologize one more time. Yuuri quails under her glare and sits back down, “I understand that you’re going through alot right now and that despite having carved out a name for yourself with hard work and dedication you still have anxiety and that's ok but you need to  _listen_.” She pauses, making sure she had the young dancer’s full attention before continuing.

“What you displayed back there was a one in a million talent. Not only is manifesting after thirteen unheard of but you manifested  _without using your hands_.” Minako stares sternly at the boy now fidgeting in spot, “Now I’m not trying to get rid of you nor am I happy to see you go but Yuuri do you know what kind of talent you just displayed? Manifesting with such strong power is rare enough as it is, but coupled with everything else, you could make headlines in an hour if you wanted!”

  
The blush that had been slowly heating up Yuuri’s face is now deepening rapidly into a rather impressive shade of dark red.  _Good_  Minako thought amusedly, at least that meant he had  _some_  realization of his talent.

“Yuuri I’m not going to force you to do anything,” she continues determinedly, intent on getting her point across before the boy’s anxiety got the best of him “but I do know someone who could help you hone that talent, refine your wind type if you wanted to. If you wanted, you could join your sister as a powerful wind type user.”

Minako’s heart clenches slightly as the boy who may as well be her son stares at her, hope glimmering softly in his eyes as he understands what she’s saying, what she’s offering him.

“I have a good friend, Celestino, who is more than willing to train you, Yuuri. I hope you don’t mind that I told him a bit of your background but Yuuri, if you wanted, if you set your mind to it, you could become one of the most powerful wind type user there is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!! I was supposed to be studying for my LSAT exam that is in two weeks and I brainstormed and began writing a brand new fanfic instead because I'm absolute trash!!! Alot of my setting inspiration is from Avatar the Last Airbender and I'm drawing from the four types of elements but also including a few subtypes (ice/blood/etc).This chapter is a little short right now but it will definitely get longer as the story goes on since I literally wrote this in an hour. Please feel free to leave a comment!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to fix as many mistakes as I could find but I'm sure theres still a bit in there so apologies in advance!

Detroit in september was beautiful. The summer air that had hung stagnant and low for months in Fire country is transformed into the crisp kick of autumn breeze that swirls around Yuuri, playful and coy as it darts through the green-turned-red leaves. Yuuri for his part, allows the breeze to tease his shirt, his jacket, his hair, having long since learning that the wind has a mind and body of its own, answering to nobody except it’s own volition and playful desires.

Inhaling appreciatively, Yuuri strides languidly towards the terminal entrance of the airport, keeping a watchful eye on the oncoming traffic. Training under Celestino in Detroit the past two years had given him both a sense of independence and self assurance that had never been there before even the age of ten. While his anxiety still constantly hovered about him, the ever faithful shadow grasping on any momentary weakness it was given, even Yuuri could recognize the marked improvement in his self esteem since Celestino had started coaching him.

——————————————————————————————————————

 _Phenomenal._ That was the first word Celestino Cialdini had uttered to both Yuuri and Minako after the Italian man to flew out upon Minako’s request to see Yuuri’s wind manifestation in person. Yuuri had been reluctant, still shaken up from his first experience and unable to get the six inch gashes in the studio’s wooden walls out of his head. However, after much poking and prodding from Minako, he had eventually given in and demonstrated his manifestation (Yuuri wasn’t sure why he had even bothered resisting her in the first place, Minako had an uncanny knack of getting what she wanted, exactly when she wanted it).

Contrary to all evidence showing that the later a user manifested, the weaker their type would be, Yuuri found being a wind type user as easy as breathing. And while he had definitely been aiming a little further than the oak tree right in front of them, Yuuri nevertheless felt a surge of satisfaction at the strong gust of wind that promptly stripped the (poor) tree of it’s leaves at the twitch of his finger.

 _Incredible._ Celestino had continued to say, gaping at Minako and then Yuuri and then back again. _Amazing._

The chipper Italian man had immediately extended Yuuri an offer to train under him, to “ _hone your incredible natural talent”_ as he had put it. And while Yuuri had been thrilled at the famous Fire type user’s proposal, he had nevertheless been incredibly reluctant to accept. Because what if it was all a fluke? What if Yuuri could call on the wind today and revert back to being disappointing and useless tomorrow? What if fate was somehow playing a cruel game with him and this was all a dream, a joke to remind him of how pathetic he was as part of the two percent of population that simply never manifests.

Convincing Yuuri had taken time and patience from both Celestino and Minako, along with a hearty scolding from Mari who yelled at him for being “ _a complete idiot who doesn’t realize how amazing and talented you are with or without manifestation, but now that you have manifested you better accept this chance Yuuri or you will never have another peaceful moment for the rest of your life!”_

(And while it was true that Yuuri had been dreaming of training as a wind type user since he was six years old and enamoured with Viktor Nikiforov’s ice abilities, it was Mari’s threats that finally convinced him to accept Celestino’s offer. He had no doubt that his sister would and could make his life a living hell if she wanted to).

After that, Yuuri had promptly quit ballet and bought his plane ticket to fire country.

—————————————————————————————————————— 

A quick glance at the overhead screen told Yuuri that he was exactly on time to catch the passengers of flight E599 pour out of the terminal. Concerned with the fierce competition he was bound to face in the upcoming december Sochi Nationals, Yuuri had chosen to remain in Detroit and continue practicing while his best friend and fellow arena-mate Phichit competed in the regional Earth Championships. Despite staying in Fire country, Yuuri had nevertheless made it a point to keep tabs on Phichit’s performance, determined to support and cheer on his best friend even if he couldn’t be there in person.

“YUURIIIIIIIIIII”

Twitching at the deafening shriek, the black haired boy barely had time to turn before Phichit launched himself into him, causing both of them to stumble backwards before Yuuri hastily called on his wind to pillow them in the last second before hitting the tiled floors.

“Phichit,” he groaned, adjusting his glasses so he could blink at his best friend who was currently grinning sheepishly up at him “what if I didn’t catch us on time? we would have been hurt.” 

Scoffing, the smaller Earth country boy scrambled up, pulling Yuuri with him.

“Please,” he said, tossing a bright grin and wink in Yuuri’s direction “as if you couldn’t catch us on time Mr. basically-strongest-wind-manifester-alive.” Behind him, Celestino rubs his head in exasperation, having watched his overly excitable student crash into Yuuri but far too used to such exchanges at this point to even bother with scolding.

“Phichit-kun” Yuuri hisses, blushing slightly at his friends praises (because he’s grown more confident not _vain_ of his abilities).

“Aww I know you missed me Yuuri, cmon admit it.” says Phichit, completely disregarding the glances and wide berth people are currently giving them.

 Yuuri’s face softens at that, reaching out and hugging his roommate gently but firmly. “I did, It’s far too quiet without you. Welcome home and congratulations again on your win.”

Beaming Phichit snuggles into the embrace. “I missed you too.”

“Welcome back Celestino.” Yuuri adds, smiling at the Italian man who was standing some distance away with what Yuuri recognized as Phichit’s backpack that had probably been thrown aside in his haste to get to Yuuri. 

Celestino rolls his eyes at the two boys he had grown so fond of. “You’d think we were away for years with the way you’re acting. Yuuri, I trust you’ve been practicing all the techniques I taught you while we’ve been away?”

Yuuri nods quickly. While he still possessed the unique (as far as they knew of) ability to control his manifestation without his hands, both he and Celestino had agreed that it was best to keep such a talent quiet for the upcoming Sochi Nationals where competition was so fierce that any advantage had to be closely guarded until the right moment. If possible, Yuuri wanted to avoid displaying his ability for as long as possible, since once the media caught wind of it, his life was bound to be on display with reporters swarming around both him and his loved ones. Yuuri was lucky that Hasestsu was such a closely knit community that information of his manifestation kicking in at the age of fifteen still hadn’t reached the press yet. With a coach as famous as Celestino, the media would have a field day with such information.

This meant, however, that Yuuri had to get used to using his hands in controlling his wind. Having neglected such practice in favour of increasing his power and stamina, Yuuri was back to the basics of manifestation control when it came to using his hands. While he has gotten better, there were still times where his hands were clearly stationary despite the wind that shot out around him to do his bidding.

“Good.” Celestino says, patting his back reassuringly as they started to make their way out of the airport. “I’m sure you will do just fine in Sochi.”

Yuuri accepts what he knows to be a compliment silently, biting down the familiar tinge of anxiety that has started resurfacing in the face of Yuuri’s first national competition. _It’s alright_ Yuuri thought sternly to himself, clenching his fist determinedly, _you still have time to practice more and get it right._  

Later that night as Yuuri begun winding down for bed, Phichit slips into his room, eyes bright as he waves his phone in front of Yuuri’s face. “Look at this,” he chattered excitedly, still waving the screen far too quickly for Yuuri to catch a good glimpse at what the other was showing. “There’s a rumor that Viktor Nikiforov is going to be there. Do you think he’s looking for another bodyguard before he get’s inaugurated as king?”

The shorter boy was more than aware of the giant crush Yuuri harboured for Viktor, having one day stumbled upon around twenty to thirty posters of the Water country king-to-be shoved haphazardly under Yuuri’s bed. When asking about them, Yuuri had flushed a deep shade of red and scrambled to hide them, muttering something about a “childhood crush, nothing at all.”

(Phichit had played along until Yuuri had finally caved a few months later and admitted that his childhood crush on Viktor Nikiforov was a still very present, very ongoing crush that he had simply learnt to hide better.)

Squinting, Yuuri read the title that indeed reported “ **Nikiforov heir to be at Sochi Nationals”** with a picture of poised Viktor, dressed ethereally in a black robe and guarded smile, his long hair flowing behind him as he stared at the camera.

“He’s probably going for Christophe.” Yuuri points out, unsure of whether he was talking to Phichit or himself as he wrestled with the sudden nervous spike that plunged down his stomach, up his throat. “Isn’t Christophe representing Water country this year? It makes sense that he’d go to support his friend.”

Phichit groans dramatically, making sure his friend saw his pout. “Yuuuuriiii,” he whines, flinging himself onto the other’s bed and grinning slightly when his friend yelped and scrambled hastily out of the way. “Stop being so rational. He could be looking for a bodyguard, you don’t know that. I bet you’d make a _great_ bodyguard for him.”

Yuuri chose to ignore the salacious wink the Earth country boy sent his way, pretending not to notice the clear insinuations underlying his friends words.

“Phichit” he says, playfully shoving best friend. “We know he’s got a bunch of bodyguards already. Plus there’s no way he’ll hire someone he randomly sees at a competition, you have to go through so much training and examination before you’re even considered eligible for the position.”

(Yuuri knows this since he and Phichit searched up the requirements one day and was horrified at the sheer amount of examinations you had to qualify for to even be considered)

“You don’t know that,” Phichit pouts “He just might, Mark my words Yuuri, Viktor Nikiforov is known for being unpredictable.”

——

Yuuri knows he should be more anxious, more stressed, more of a mess than he is right now considering his own match is up next, but all he can focus on is Phichit dropping down low onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the giant balls of fire being thrown his way by his competitor (JJ, Yuuri think he’s called). Next to him, Celetino’s knuckles whiten as he somehow further tightens his grip on the railing, nearly bending over as they both stare intently at Phichit’s match. While the Earth man looked a little worse for wear with singes all around his simple black top and leggings that had his country stamped in big yellow letters on his back, his competitor looked no better—muddied and visibly sweating even from where Yuuri was sitting (though the giant live projections on the screen overhead did help). 

“Cmon cmon, you can do it Phichit,” Yuuri mutters, never taking his eye off his friend. “Just one clean hit.”

The fight had been going on for about twenty minutes now, with both parties were visibly tiring and getting desperate to end the match quickly. While they were still safe from the fourty minute time limit, the Sochi Nationals were home to some of the world’s best manifesters and such matches rarely lasted for longer than thirty minutes.

On screen Phichit was swinging both his arms forward, calling upon the ground to swiftly surge forward, aiming to knock his competitor off his feet only to yelp and throw himself sideways at the last minute when the other man launched fist sized fireballs in Phichit’s direction.

Not fast enough.

“Shit” Yuuri hissed, hearing Celestino’s sharp intake of breath at the stray fireball grazing Phichit in his right shoulder, forcing the now injured Earth country man to back away, putting distance between his competitor and him. It’s the first real injury of the match and the commentator asserts just that as the camera’s zoom in even closer on the hollowed out arena. 

The cameras catch Phichit’s competitor flash quick grin, clearly pleased with the injury despite it not being enough clean enough to win the match.Yuuri grinds his teeth, glaring at the Fire country boy while furiously muttering “Come _on_ Phichit, one clean hit. Just like we practiced.”

The past year saw Yuuri and Phichit practicing harder and longer than either boy had ever practiced before, beginning at dawn and not leaving until well after sundown, sweaty and tired. Both boys had been determined to improve their weaknesses, Phichits being stamina and Yuuri with his tendency to draw upon his wind type without hands.

It had been slow at first. A snail pace of barely visible improvement but after almost half a year of intensive training, both boys had undeniably improved. Phichit began to hold his own against Celestino for more than fourty minutes while Yuuri learnt to control his manifestations by hand as easily as he did without.

Pleased with their improvement, Celestino had allowed Yuuri and Phichit to regularly spar each other and it was during this time that Yuuri helped Phichit develop the Earth manifesters better moves.

While regularly sparring, the boys had noticed a three millisecond gap of when the manifester called on a certain move, to when their manifestation would follow through. This gap meant that during this time, the manifester would be at it’s most vulnerable. This gap in time, meant the difference between a win and a loss.

“Come _on_ Phichit you can do this.”

In the arena, Phichit is eyeing the fire manifester warily as the other begins to move closer for his next attack. Yuuri tightens his grip on the railing. It’s now or never.

The competitor’s arms are brought up to eye level, forming an _X_ in front of his face. Phichit eyes narrow, eyes locked on every single movement his opponent makes

_One._

As his competitor starts to bring down his arms in a sweeping motion, Phichit surges forward, arms already moving to call upon his Earth, mouth locked in an uncharacteristic snarl as he launches his body sideways and into the air— away from any potential fireballs on the event that he miscalculates his timing.

_Two._

The  competitors eyes widen at this, hands faltering and Phichit uses this to his advantage, throwing his right arm out in a large sweeping arc.

_Three._

Fires roar into life, emerging from around the Fire manifester as they surge towards the Earth manifester but they’re too late. Having called upon his type a split second faster, the earth rose to Phichits command, sweeping out from behind the competitor and who knocks over with a startled cry.

The fireballs that had been making their way furiously over to him flickers as it’s manifester loses balance and Phichit grasps this opportunity to bring his outstretched arm straight down in a fluid motion. The fire manifester throws his arms out again with a yell, this time as instinctive defense against the earth that surges down to crush his body but it stops just short of slamming into his body.

On screen, both competitors breathe heavily. 

Then the speaker blares around him.

“And the winner of this round Phichit Chulanont representing Earth Country!”

Phichit won.

Yuuri bursts into applause, yelling his best friend's name from where he was, momentarily forgetting about his anxiety and his own match because his best friend had _won_ his very first match at the Sochi Nationals. The hours spent maximizing on the momentary weakness of manifesters right before their manifestations could catch up in a fight had been all worth it.

Yuuri was _so_ proud of his best friend.

“And now,” the commentator continues, voice blaring all around the stadium, “while our maintainer's straighten up Arena A, please welcome our next two manifesters! We have first time competitor representing Wind Country: Yuuri Katsuki against our youngest competitor representing Water Country: Yuri Plisetsky!! Competitors please report to Arena B.”

And just like that Yuuri’s mood plummets.

 _Ah yes._ he thinks wryly even as his heart jumps to his throat and he fights down the distinct feeling of nausea. _The dreaded part of the competition. The actual competing._

Celestino, far too familiar with Yuuri’s anxiety to say anything to the wind type boy, pats his shoulder in a reassuring manner as they began to make their way to the similarly designed arena right opposite the one Phichit was still on.

Given how incredibly large the Sochi stadium was, it had enough space that allowed for two arenas—no small feat given the sheer amount of space needed by elit manifesters during a competition to show off their abilities. Already, elite earth maintainers were entering the rocky ground of Arena A and returning it back to normal. The spectators were seated high above in endless rows circling the two fighting grounds, watching from a bird's eye view aided with large televisions, giving the arena an almost nest like impression.

Upon reaching the entrance to the arena, Celestino gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Good luck Yuuri” he says simply and just like that Yuuri is alone, walking towards the center of the arena on the opposite side of the short, scowling blonde who he assumed to be Yuri Plisetsky. Given how closely guarded the information of competitors are for the Sochi finals, Yuuri had been unable to find any information about potential competitors online and like many competitors, were going into the fight blind. Not that there would have been much in Yuri Plisetsky case since he, like Yuuri, was a first time competitor.

As they slowly came to a halt in the dead center of the arena, they stood facing each other, sizing each other up as they waited for the green light from the commentator. The chances of Yuuri’s competitor being a water type user was fairly high—it was, after all, most common to have the manifestation of the country you lived in. However, growing numbers of  relocations and diversifying marriages meant that there was still a chance that Yuri Plisetsky was of another manifestation.

“Competitors,” the commentator boomed from all around them, “You will have one hour to land a clean hit on your opponent. Matches beyond the hour limit will result in a rematch on an alternative date unless a competitor forfeits. Serious intentional injuries will result in instant disqualification while non accidental deaths of an opponent will result in a lifelong ban from all forms of manifestation competitions. Should a competitor wish to forfeit now or during the competition, they must raise their left hand and release two short spurts of their manifestation above them. Maintainers monitoring the game will immediately halt the competition and the forfeiter will lose. Do both competitors comply with these terms?”

Yuuri nodded along with the blonde. Drawing in a deep breath and willing his pounding heartbeat to slow down, the wind manifester shifted so that both feet where planted squarely parellel to his shoulders, ready to move in seconds. Following his lead, the blonde similarly moved, crouching slightly and narrowing his eyes at Yuuri.

_Two Yuuri’s. Who will win?_

Having gotten both their approval the commentator continues “Competitors get ready. And. Start!”

Yuuri immediately launchds himself backwards, away from Yuri Plisetsky, flicking his hand downwards so that his wind rushes towards his feet, giving him a powerful boost away from his competitor and narrowly missing the sharp whip of water that lashed out to where he had been standing a split second ago.

“Shit.” Yuri curses before the distance given by Yuuri’s wind type makes it impossible for him to hear his competitor.

_Water type then._

Across from him, the blonde raised both his arms up in a graceful, bent arch, before jerking his wrists in Yuuri’s direction. Almost immediately, a powerful tornado of water bursts from the ground behind the water manifester and leaps towards Yuuri, eating up the distance between them in a matter of seconds.

Yuuri’s eyes widen at the sheer size of the body of water. While he knew that the Sochi competitions attract some of the strongest manifesters in the world, standing within the arena and seeing the strength and power of these competitors in person was still awe inspiring.

Quickly throwing his right hand up in defense, palm at eye level with himself, Yuuri called on his manifestation, feeling the happy surge of wind obey him, forming a protective barrier around him so that not a single droplet of water escaped.

Distantly he could hear the commentator say something but, like in Phichit’s battle, he was far too caught up in the fight to notice.

With his right hand still up and holding the protective wall shielding him from the seemingly endless funnel of water smashing into it, Yuuri jabs his left hand forward in the general direction of where he had seen his blonde opponent last.

The water faltering slightly was all the evidence Yuuri needed to confirm the shorter Yuri’s position and this time he throws his left hand out in a more forceful motion, palm first in the same direction as before.

 _Yes._ He thinks as the powerful jets finally cease around him, returning his vision of the surrounding that the water had previously been blocking. This brief cheer was cut short abruptly though as Yuri, clearly expecting the wind manifester to stop his water tornado, immediately launched into the offensive—running quickly towards Yuuri and hurling his hand forward so that bullets of water shot their way towards Yuuri.

Luckily for the wind user, his barrier were still up in front of him and it sliced through the water droplets well before any could reach Yuuri. Raising his left hand once again Yuuri was about to send a tornado of his own towards his opponents when—

_Zing_

Yuuri felt something sharp and wet pierce the skin of his right ear from behind and, ignoring the sudden stab of pain, he flings himself onto the floor, away from the water bullets that his opponents had launched to go behind Yuuri in order to remain undetected.  _Idiot_ Yuuri berates himself in horror,  _that's the oldest trick in the book._

From the ground and without his barrier, Yuuri felt a few more rain bullets whizz uncomfortably close by: near his head, near his arm, until one finally grazed his right leg. With Yuuri’s opponent closing up even more on Yuuri, his aims were getting more and more accurate and Yuuri _can’t_ let it end here, _can’t_ lose within few minutes of his first national round. Not after two years of intensive training away from his family, not after fifteen years of growing up as the pathetic useless unmanifested brother and son, not when _his entire family_ is watching this competition back at home.

With a desperate cry, Yuuri throws his arms out in front of him, shielding his face from any potential rain bullets that are now beginning to shower down haphazardly around him and calling on the strongest surge of his manifestation as he could muster.

 _Help_ he pleads to the ever fickle wind who has been with him every step of the way since he manifested. _I can’t let it end here. Please._

And it’s with a thunderous boom that wind answers to his manifestation, bursting forward in an angry snarl, the untamed beast of the wild, and devouring everything within it’s path.

Yuuri hears a startled cry from his left and then more surprised yells that seemed to be from a great distance away as he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in large gulps of air.

Around him, he feels rather than sees the wind curl around him defensively, protectively as it simultaneously lashes out at anything and anyone in it’s path, seeing them all as threats to its manifester. Yuuri feels rather than sees the wind slowly ebb down, calmer and softer than it had been before, seemingly satisfied that Yuuri was relatively safe before it made a soft swirl around Yuuri’s head, ruffling his hair in an affectionate manner before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Prying his eyes open, Yuuri lifts his head from the ground and propped himself up onto his elbows, blinking his contacts back into focus and taking in the scene around him. Little bullet sized holes littered the ground around him, many uncomfortably close to where he was lying, indicating just how close his opponent had been to getting a clean shot. 

Blonde Yuri was in a crumpled pile on the floor like Yuuri, at least twenty meters away and even from this distance, Yuuri could see his opponent staring at him with an open mouth, water manifestation nowhere to be seen. Yuuri frowned, hadn’t he been much closer to the wind manifester? Yuuri was almost sure that the water manifester had almost been upon Yuuri a few seconds ago so why was he so far away? Had his desperate call upon his wind manifestation been that effective? What was happening?

Before Yuuri could give it more thought than a few owlish blinks, the speakers blare to life once more, causing Yuuri to jump. He had been so caught up with the fight that he had completely forgotten about the commentator.

“And in a last minute unexpected turn of event in what seemed like a sure victory for the Water country manifester, Yuuri Katsuki released an incredibly powerful shield that blasted Yuri Plisetsky off his feet and more than fifteen meters from where he had originally been standing! While the many competitors opt for the more traditional method of getting a clean hit through use of attack manifestations, Yuuri Katsuki has undeniably landed a clean hit on his opponent. Ladies and Gentlemen. The winner of this round: Yuuri Katsuki!!!”

 _What?_ Yuuri thought dazedly. _That’s not right, what? It’s over? That couldn’t have been more than ten minutes_

Around him, cheers erupted as the audiences entered a frenzied clapping for the first time competitor. Yuuri likes to think that if he concentrated, he could hear Phichit hollering his name somewhere from the ground floor stands where all the competitors were. But then again, Yuuri did hit his head a bit hard when he threw himself onto the ground.

“And now,” the commentator continued above the din “while our maintainer's straighten up Arena B, please welcome our next two manifesters!” What the man in the speaker proceeded to say, Yuuri had no idea because he had _won._ He had won! Somehow?

_He won??_

Getting up shakily, Yuuri began to slowly make his way over to his competitor who was no longer gaping at him for whatever reason but nevertheless still eyeing him intently, making no move to walk away as the wind manifester made his way slowly over.

When he was finally close enough Yuuri cleared his throat awkwardly. Why had he made his way here again?

“Um.” He begins hesitantly, face burning from embarrassment as he sees cameras beginning to flash in their directions from his peripheral vision. “That was a good fight, you were incred—”

“You didn’t use your hands.” The blonde Yuri interrupts, eyes narrowing. His voice is lower than Yuuri had expected, rough and angry in ways possibly from the battle, possibly from annoyance. “In that last move. You didn’t use your hands.”

Yuuri’s brain grinds into a halt.

“W-what?” he stutters, laughing nervously.

“You threw your arms out. But you never actually used your hands when you called on that freakishly strong wind back there. Don’t lie to me. I know what I saw.”

Yuuri is _so_ fucked.

“Um.” He says nervously, shooting a wary eye around him. While there were no mantainers close by to actually overhear them, Yuuri was still uncomfortable having the conversation here. “Can we—can we talk about this somewhere else? Please?” Yuuri adds hastily when the other boy looked like he was about to argue.

Another tense minute passed where Yuuri fidgeted under the stare of the shorter boy and they _definitely_ should have gotten off the arena by now, Yuuri’s amazed that no one was yelling at them yet.

Then—”Fine. Come with me then." 

With a huff the shorter boy begins walking towards the exit (which is conveniently close considering Yuuri hurled him so far with his manifestation), not bothering to check if Yuuri followed or not. There were less cameras flashing in their direction now, which makes sense considering the next match in Arena A was about to begin.

“Hurry up.” Yuri barks at him and the wind manifester quickly obliges, quickening his steps to keep up with his short tempered companion. 

“Um, where are we going?” He asks hesitantly. Yuri looks back as if about to answer him, and perhaphs he does. Yuuri doesn’t know because it’s drowned out by a deafening

“YUUURIII!!!”

Both boys jerk towards the direction of their names, the water country boy scowling as if recognizing the voice and the wind manifester turning merely on instinct. Before either of them had time to react, a flash of silver barrells into the shorter boy, almost knocking him off his feet for the second time in fifteen minutes.

“What a great fight Yuri! What superb control of your water barrier with so little time to react!! Incredible!”

Yuuri blinks at the scene in front of him, a suddenly pounding heart jumping to his throat because that _can’t_ be—

“Get _off_ me you old man!! Are you even allowed down here?”

The silver haired man laughed, allowing the small blonde boy to claw his way out of the embrace. “Nonsense Yuri,” he says airly, tongue rolling through the English words in a way Yuuri is both unfamiliar and far too familiar with. “Of course I’m allowed down here, I wanted to see you! And your competitor with such impressive wind manifestations.”

With that the man turned to fully face Yuuri, hair and eyes glinting under the lights as behind them, cameras once again began to flash furiously.

“Hello Yuuri!” The man says, extending his arms on either side of him in a rather excessive manner. His frame is covered by a simple, black trenchcoat and his eyes slightly covered by a fringe of silver but Yuuri had spent farr too many years staring at far too many posters to not recognize who he was.

Yuuri doesn’t know if he’s still breathing. Doesn’t know if he _cares_ that he’s still breathing because the man in front of him can’t _possibly_ be who Yuuri thinks,knows, he is.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov and I have a proposition for you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always count on my procrastinating. It's 12 am and I have gotten no homework down but at least I got this chapter up I guess? I realize that Yuuri's anxiety is different from the way I am portraying it here but due to the nature of the story and how it will eventually develop, I don't think that Yuuri's particular style of anxiety that was depicted in the anime would be convincing in this scenario. Thus I modelled it much more after my own and will continue to make it as realistic as possible esp in terms of the plot. Please let me know if you liked it or not!!


	3. Chapter 3

Viktor Nikiforov was  _ so _ bored. He had been waiting for over an hour for Yuri’s turn to fight, excited to see how the teenager would handle his first real competition even though Viktor knew that the blond was more than qualified for this competition. Yuri, after all, was the next in line should anything happen to Viktor during his rule as the king and the young Water manifester had trained just as hard as Viktor for just as many hours.

He also had no qualms about explaining just  _ how  _ bored to anyone around him that was willing to listen (and frankly those who weren’t willing had to listen too because he’s  _ so bored) _ .

“Vitya,” Christophe complained, likely tired of hearing Viktor whine for the fifth time in half an hour. “Yuri is the next up, surely you can wait few more minutes?”

Mila snorted at that, “It’s Viktor we’re talking about, Christophe, we should be lucky he hasn’t run off yet.”

(Though not for a lack of trying)

“It’s taking  _ so _ longggg.” Viktor whines back, and, when he receives no answer, he settles for grumbling under his breath and sinking deeper into the stadium seat. Spectators were technically not allowed onto the ground floor arena seating's reserved for the competitors but Viktor had had every intention of ignoring this and watching from the ground floor anyways. That is, right up until Yuri had caught him attempting to sneak in and threatened to, “Punch you in the face you balding old man don’t try me.”

Fussing and muttering about ungrateful children, Viktor had reluctantly followed an amused Christophe back to their level one seating area.

(He’ll sneak down after Yuri’s match when the angry blonde was too high off his win to be too mad.)

Given his position in the royal house, Viktor wasn’t necessarily  _ encouraged _ to frequent large spaces with so many people so he had spent two months negotiating with Yakov in order to attend the Sochi Nationals. 

While he was still opposed to Viktor attending, Yakov had eventually given in, largely due to the fact that Viktor had actually  _ asked _ this time and had not simply given bodyguards the slip and had upped and ran off which had been his usual style until his last escapade where Viktor found out a few weeks after that that his uncle had gotten no sleep and hadn’t eaten from the stress of Viktor potentially being kidnapped. Viktor was many things, intentionally cruel wasn’t one of them and he had made sure he did not do a repeat. (Not to that extent at least).

Yakov had, however, insisted on Viktor bringing both Mila and Christophe with him, shadowing as bodyguards. And while Viktor had wanted to go alone, he supposed having your bodyguard turned friends of ten years was an acceptable compromise, especially considering Christophe who had been loudly complaining about having to withdraw from the Sochi Nationals due to an arm injury at training, had immediately lit up at the prospect of bossing Viktor around.

Yura on the other had grumbled about how he didn’t want them “embarrassing me in the stands, do they  _ have  _ to come.” It was along this time that Yakov had given up and, muttering something about never being able to win, locked himself in his office and had refused to come out for three days.

So Viktor was perfectly willing to cut his losses and sneak downstairs after Yuri wins.

Squinting at the arena, Viktor clapped good naturally along with the crowd when the small, black haired Earth manifester won his match.

“That was a good move, very well timed.” Christophe was saying to his right, nodding approvingly. “He definitely has potential.”

It  _ had _ been a good move. The black haired boy had maximized on the few milliseconds of space between when a manifester called on his type and when the manifestation answered. Being the most vulnerable during this time meant an easy win for opponents. It was also why high ranking officers of the Water country bodyguard all had to learn from their first few days to minimize the time between this gap and how to defend accordingly. Had the Earth manifester been up against Yuri, he would have been hard pressed to win the round with such tactics.

After all, fights for your life did not afford participants the same luxuries as competitions no matter how rare or common actual combat really was.

Still, for a first time competitor, the Earth manifester had done fairly well, especially given that his competitor had been JJ who even Viktor had to admit was strong, despite how much he loathed the man’s presence when they would run into each other during banquets.

Around him, the excessively loud commentator was already moving on to the next battle and Viktor felt a quick surge of anticipation at his cousin's name.

“Finally!” he says, laughing as he registered the name of Yuri’s competitor. His little cousin is going to be  _ so  _ annoyed.

As if reading his thoughts, Mila lets out a bark of laughter, “Yuri up against Yuri.” She crows, clapping furiously as the competitors entered arena B. The second Yuri appeared slightly older, with a mop of black hair and ivory pale skin typical of those of the Wind country. “I bet he’s real annoyed about that.”

Viktor smiled his agreement. With how proud his cousin was, Yuri was no doubt fuming at the similarity in his competitor's name. The poor Wind country boy was about to face Yuri’s wrath without ever knowing why.

_ Now, little cousin _ , Viktor thought, settling into his seat and training his eyes on the two figures below, _ show the world what you have to offer. _

Above him, the loudspeakers were droning the last bits of the competition’s rules, with the cameras zooming into both the manifesters faces to capture them saying ‘I do’ in English.

“That’s his competitor?” Mila asks, frowning slightly at the large screens above. “He looks awfully meek.”

And he did. With screens split to show Yuri and his competitor, the Water country boy seemed far too doe eyed and timid to be in a competition this fierce, especially when contrasted with Yuri’s narrowed eyes and fierce expression.

Looks could be deceiving though. Viktor knew this better than anyone else.

“Who knows,” he says shrugging halfheartedly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, “maybe he’ll surprise us and be a tough competitor for our Yuri. It’s no easy task to qualify for the Sochi Nationals after all.”

Next to him, he sees Christophe narrow his eyes at the screen before emitting an exclamation, causing his two friends to jump slightly.

“It  _ is _ Yuuri! I wasn’t sure since I hadn’t seen him in over a year but that’s Celestino’s kid!” he says, slapping his hand on his thigh for emphasis. Viktor looked from Chris to the Wind Country manifester and back again, surprised.

“Celestino as in your  _ mentor _ Celestino?” he asks, seeing Yuri’s opponent in new light. Celestino was one of the best known trainers and had been a famous earth manifested in his heyday. While he retired a few years back, he was still well known for producing exceptionally talented manifesters, Christophe for one. For Yuri’s competitor to be training under Celestino meant that he had to have caught the Fire Manifester’s eye—a feat within itself.

His friend nodded, green eyes sparkling wickedly, “Yuri has his work cut out for him if he’s going against Yuuri.” He laughs, and Viktor notes the way he draws out the  _ u  _ in the other competitor’s name. “I only met him once when I visited Celestino but he’s a sweet kid, you’d like him. Very quiet and reserved though.”

“Yuuri? Is that how you say it?” Viktor asks.

Chris nods, “his name has a longer  _ u _ sound than out Yuri.”

Mila, still looking at the stage mouths the name, dragging out the  _ u _ just as Chris had suggested. “What is his manifestation? Wind?”

For some reason, Christophe begins chuckle at her question and both Viktor and Mila exchanged confused looks. Never one to miss out on jokes, Viktor prods his friend.

“ _ Chriisss _ ,” he drawls, “What are we missing? What’s so funny?”

“He is indeed a Wind manifester,” Christophe confirms, still slightly chortling. Viktor still didn’t see what had been funny. “But wait till you see what he can do.”

With that mysterious statement, Christophe refused to say anymore, insisting that the two had to see for themselves despite Viktor’s incessant questions.

“It’s worth witnessing first hand.” is all he says, shushing them and gesturing back to the screen where the competitors had begun to move. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

The match had started.

 

————

 

Viktor is  _ floored. _ Celestino’s prodigy student was incredible, amazing, astounding. Next to him, Mila is similarly gaping, both from shock that their Yuri actually  _ lost _ and and that the Wind manifester definitely, 100% did  _ not _ use his hands in the last move.

Chris, who was looking a little too smug for somebody rooting for Yuri grinned at both of their faces. “Incredible right?” he says “Got me the first time too.”

Viktor’s head swiveled back towards the arena, eyes latching onto the black haired boy who had his head raised, looking in Yuri’s direction.

“Did he just? What? Did he just call on his manifestation without his hands?”

Laughing, Christophe playfully nudged at Viktor’s shoulder. “I told you it was worth witnessing first hand. It’s rare enough to have mutative manifestations like you two’s but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a user who could manifest without hands. From what he had told me, Yuuri had just started training with Celestino for under a year when I met him so he’s still making a few amateur mistakes but he’s immensely talented for his skill level, no?”

“Immensely talented? That kid wasn’t using his hands! And did you  _ see _ the size of that win manifestation? Holy crap!” Mila says, swiveling her head back to the arena where the two competitors appeared to be talking. “Even Vitya would have a hard time creating one at that scale and you’re saying this kid has only trained for two years?”

Down in the arena, the black haired Wind manifester was approaching Yuri, probably to congratulate the other for the match as many competitors did. Yuri however, appeared to say something that caused the other Yuuri to visibly recoil and they appeared to awkwardly stare off (or glare in Yuri’s case) in opposite directions before they both began moving towards the exit through some unspoken agreement that Viktor didn’t catch.

Viktor stared down at the two, eyes sparkling. The Wind manifester had been  _ incredible. _ Never in a million years would Viktor had guessed that  _ Yuri  _ would be the one to lose a match. In fact, upon reflection, Yuuri Katsu? Katsuke? Yuuri representing the Wind country could probably give Viktor a run for  _ his _ money once he had polished his wind manifestation up a little more. The fact that the boy had made it so far with a mere two years of training was incredible and Viktor could easily see why Christophe had called him a tough competitor.

_ In fact,  _ Viktor thought delightedly, an idea already quickly forming in his mind _ , wouldn’t it be interesting if Yuuri... _

As Christohe had been still talking to Mila, the man barely had time to take in the gleeful look on Viktor’s face and say “Vitya _ no _ **_—_ ** _ ”  _ before Viktor took off, launching himself out of his seat and towards the exit.

Groaning, Mila and Christophe jumped up albeit at a much slower pace, both too used to Viktor’s erratic tendencies to truly worry.

“What do you think he’s up to now?” Mila asks, a barely there edge to her voice as the silver mop of hair in front of them grew further and further away, partially hidden by the slew of photographers and reporters that had taken note of the Water Country’s prince and were all frantically taking photos of all three of them, swinging their cameras back and forth.

Viktor paid them no mind, keeping up his fast pace in hopes to run into Yuri before the two competitors began whatever discussion Yuri probably demanded they have. The reporters would say whatever they wanted regardless of what he did. Viktor had learnt that by now.

Behind him, he heard a lightly cursing Christophe quicken his pace, eating up the distance between them and the runaway prince so they wouldn’t lose sight of him. “Who knows with Vitya.” he said to Mila, “Let’s just hope he does whatever he is planning right now in private.”

Viktor leads them past the entry into Arena B and into a long corridor next to it, weaving his way with more ease and confidence than he should considering he had never actually been past the entrance of the Arena before. However, despite his flippant attitude, he really had been excited for both Yuri and Christophe to compete and had taken a quick look at the layout of the building in the months leading up to the Sochi finals before Christophe had had to pull out. He had initially been completely intent on sneaking downstairs and surprising Yuri by embarrassing him in front of the television, but that had been before Viktor had known Yuri’s competitor would be so  _ interesting. _

Turning on a sharp corner near where the exit into the arena was, Viktor saw what he had been looking for: the blond mop of his cousins hair and the rather timid looking Wind Country manifester that was trailing quietly behind Yuri.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Viktor launched himself into his cousin, squealing out a loud “YURRRIIIIIII” while he did.

“What a great fight Yuri! What superb control of your water barrier with so little time to react!! Incredible!”

Footsteps behind them tell Viktor that Christophe and Mila slow down, having finally caught up to him  while he had been busy squeezing Yuri tightly in his arms (mainly to annoy his cousin) while the said blonde snarled, “Get  _ off  _ me you old man!! Are you even allowed down here?”

“No” Both Mila and Christophe mutter but it doesn’t matter, they all knew Viktor did what he wanted regardless of what was told to him. It was one of his more frustrating qualities.

The silver haired man laughs, ignoring both the angry kick Yuri sent his way and Mila’s annoyed huff. “Nonsense Yuri,” he says, waving his hand to the side in a dismissing manner. “Of course I’m allowed down here, I wanted to see you! And your competitor with such impressive wind manifestations.”

“Oh boy,” Mila says as Viktor turns to face the said competitor. 

_ Ohhh _ , Viktor thought delightedly, taking in the other Yuuri up close for the first time. The big screen hadn’t done the Wind manifester looks justice. The younger boy’s large eyes had the exact hue of melted dark chocolate, soft and sweet as he stared wide eyed at Viktor, mouth parted in a surprised  _ O _ . Standing around a head shorter than him, the Wind manifester cheeks were still flushed, likely from exerting himself in battle, and Viktor found the flushed rosy cheeks as a fantastic contrast to the otherwise pale ivory skin of the Wind manifestor.

Viktor  _ wanted _ .

“Hello Yuuri!” Viktor found himself already saying, mouth and hands moving before his brain could even fully process how frankly  _ adorable _ the Wind manifester standing in front of him was. His arms have somehow spread eagled around him, as if he was being showcased under a spotlight and Yuuri was the sole audience, Next to him, Viktor vaguely notices Yuri and Chris exchanging looks of confusion. He hopes, he  _ hopes _ he’s not making a fool of himself in front of Yuuri.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov and I have a proposition for you!”

“Oh no.” Christophe says suddenly, confusion changing into an expression of surprise and understanding of what Viktor was planning.

Around them, cameras were frantically clicking, flashing from all angles as photographers made the most of Viktors pose. A few reporters were already inching forward, pen and notebook ready when Mila, jolting out of her trance of watching them all, frowns and steps in front of the few braver reporters.

“As entertaining as all of this is, can we please find a more private area for this conversation?” She asks, levelling a glare at the cameras. Both the reporters and Viktor shrink slightly from the bite in her tone. Angry Mila was  _ scary. _

“This way,” answers Yuri, scowling and jabbing at a door to their left. “I had been heading in here before this idiot jumped on me.”

Pulling the handle of the door with more force than strictly necessary, they all ducked into the slightly cramped room, Christophe shutting the door in the reporter’s face, ignoring the tumbling questions they were shouting at them. Viktor took a quick assessing glance around. While he trusted Yuri’s judgment on the safety of the room, he was not above double checking on the off chance his cousin overlooked anything.

It only took one mistake to kill a person after all.

The motion sensored lights, having automatically flickered on showed a small waiting room, most probably for competitors seeking some quiet time right before they entered the arena. A single bench took up the center of the otherwise space and Mila guides the still surprised Yuuri down onto it. 

Viktor was just about to open his mouth when Yuuri, seemingly focusing on something behind him, starts talking.

“Christophe,” Yuuri gasps, and  _ oh _ he sounds as lovely as he looks. “I—Weren’t you representing Water country this year?”

It takes a second for Viktor to realize that Yuuri had been focusing on Christophe, and he pouts slightly at that. He didn’t like being ignored.

Christophe on the other hand, smiled encouragingly back at the black haired boy “I hurt my arm a month back during training so had to withdraw,” he explains. “It’s nothing serious but Yakov didn’t want me over exerting myself and permanently damaging my hands during the nationals.”

“Yes, yes,” Viktor says impatiently, cutting across the conversation to prop his head on top of Yuuri’s, arms sliding down to loop around the neck of the seated Wind manifester. Beneath him, the black mop of hair emitted a curious mix of what sounded both like a birthing whale and a high pitch squeak. Christophe rolls his eyes at Viktor’s antics but, being the excellent best friend that he is, chooses not to say anything about Viktor’s more than petty actions. 

“Tell us about you, Yuuri! How do you feel winning? And you haven’t even heard my proposition yet!”

“Um—Good. Why, why are you h—?”

The younger boy started to ask his question but appeared to completely deflate when the silver haired man man extracts his hands and gently spun Yuuri around on the bench to face him.

“Why am I here?” Viktor guesses, and he is having  _ far _ too much fun watching the different shades of red chase each other across Yuuri’s face. It also doesn’t escape his notice that Yuuri had essentially allowed Viktor to  manhandle him. A quick thrill shoots through him as he takes in the soft brown eyes currently staring back at him.

“Give him some space Vitya.” Mila says, taking pity on the boy and shoving Viktor back. “I think he’s about to start hyperventilating. And also, our Yuri looks like he’s going to combust if you talk any more.”

Oh. Right. Yuri, his cousin, the whole reason he was here today.

He glances slightly sheepishly at the short blonde who had been unnaturally quiet up until this point and indeed, Yuri looked like he was about to explode. His arms crossed over tightly over each other and his face crumbled in a fierce scowl while he stood fuming in the corner of the room furthest from Viktor.

“I have business with him, old man.” Yuri grinds out in their native tongue, jerking his head at the boy Viktor still had his arm looped with.

“Now now, Yura,” he scolds and he can actually  _ see _ a vein pop in Yuri’s forehead. That kind of anger can’t possibly be healthy for a fifteen year old. “Let me finish first.”

(He hears Chris snort out the word  _ hypocrite _ behind him but being the bigger man that he is, Viktor chooses to ignore that)

He throws on the brightest smile that he has, flashing his teeth at the Wind manifester. 

“Yuuri, I’d like you to train as a personal bodyguard for me in Water Country! You displayed marvelous talent for someone who has only formally trained for two years and the fact that your last move was  _ without hands. _ Incredible! You must teach me how! If you do stay in Water Country I’m happy to offer you anything you want, anything you ask for. What do you say?”

Yuuri splutters adorably too. And Viktor knows he flirts a little too much but Yuuri is  _ adorable _ .

“Wha-what?” Yuuri sputtered. “Are you guys messing with me right now?”

The question appeared to be directed to Chris and Viktor frowns slightly, unused to the lack of attention. Why didn’t Yuuri just ask  _ him _ ? Did he like Chris better? 

“He’s an idiot.” Yuri says, throwing Viktor a scathing look. “And you’re all annoying as hell right now. You. How did you do that last move, the one without the hands?

“It’s something I’ve been doing since I first manifested,” says Yuuri quietly, as if embarrassed by such a talent. “ I just. Picture what I want to do in my head and it sort of just, happens? My couch has been asking around and nobody else seems to have the same, uh,  _ oddity.” _

Christ snorts at that. “Yuuri,” he says, still lounging by the door. “Don’t be so humble, you’re definitely the only one in the world as far as I know that is capable of it. Even mutative manifestations are more common.” 

“That’s what they call Viktor’s manifestation right?”

It’s the first time Yuuri says his name, the first time he properly acknowledges Viktor’s presence and Viktor  _ basks  _  in it. Feels himself practically glow at the sound of his name rolling of the Wind manifesters tongue and  _ huh _ . Viktor was quite used to this brief intense interest that always faded after  a quick fling but this need to be acknowledged was new.

“Exactly,” Viktor agrees, temporarily pushing his thoughts aside to and raising his right hand and calling on his ice type. A spark of his manifestation shoots out of his index finger almost immediately, a glinting ribbon of ice that swirls softly onto the ground, disintegrating on impact. Viktor feels a pang as he watches his ice disappear. He remembers how he had been so convinced of how  _ gifted _ , how  _ perfect _ he was for the throne, simply because he had an ice type manifestation. Remembers how this naivety caused him his greatest grief.

“Mutative manifestations are exceedingly rare. There is an estimated 300 of us in the world. Yet here you are in front of us, Yuuri, with an ability to control your manifestation without your hands, an unheard of ability.”

The room is so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Even Yura, angry, volatile Yura, was silent as Viktor continued.

“I’ll ask you one more time Yuuri. Would you like to train as a personal bodygaurd for the Prince of the Water Country?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys!! I hope you're feeling patient because this story is going to be a looonggg one. I want to do the title justice because I spent a long time thinking it up and I want Yuuri and Viktor to really fall in love organically and naturally. Plus plus plus, I threw in bad word play coz like obviousy the 'thaw' is in reference to Viktor's ice and 'winding' being long but also 'wind' as in Yuuri's manifestation. Get it get it. I make myself laugh. Please leave comments to let me know how you liked it <3


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